


Warmonger

by SilentMemento



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Explicit Language, Gen, Victini - Freeform, noblewoman squire and peasant form unlikely trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 11:52:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17001159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentMemento/pseuds/SilentMemento
Summary: A noblewoman. A squire. A peasant. Sounds odd, doesn't it? Like they were destined to meet or something like that. Turns out..they are.With the help of a legendary Pokemon, they must journey to find three sacred relics, all while fighting off the armies of a nobleman who will stop at nothing to make sure that they're dead.It sounds simple in theory...but theory doesn't win wars, and make no mistake: this is war.





	Warmonger

Moibeal MacTaggert sobbed as she watched her father bleed out in front of her. His glazed eyes stared back into her blue ones while the blood gushed from his slit throat. Her father was dead, and she could do nothing, chained to the wall as she was. She was utterly helpless to the whims of Lord Ruiseart O’Leary, the man whom she was now arranged to marry, the man who had her father murdered for refusing.

She remembered the peasant boy who had been thrown in the dungeon with her. He had struck a knight with his hand, apparently because the knight had maimed another peasant. She had no idea what would happen to him...but he had given her a crushed blue flower. A peasant remedy for something unspeakable.

She remembered his words, staring into his serious hazel eyes as he held it toward her. “This lord wants you. He will take you inside this cell. There will be nothing that you can do about that. But with this flower, you will not have a child inside your belly afterward. Peasant women use this all the time when the knights come around. I know that you don’t trust me, m’lady. Highborns normally don’t. But unless you wish to bear his child, trust me now. Please.”

The determination and sincerity in his words won him her trust. She took the flower, swallowed it whole. It reeked of sourness, but she ate it nonetheless.

She would not regret the decision as Lord Ruiseart came closer and roughly undressed her…

 

\---

 

Seamus’ head lolled to one side. He was barely conscious after the knights had beaten the hell out of him. He heard the sound of a sword being sharpened on the grindstone, the sound sending vibrations through his very soul.

He prayed that the highborn girl had taken his advice. He had no idea why she was imprisoned, but he had overheard the lord bragging about how he would take her when he was dragged off to the cells. Highborns apparently had less morals than knights - not that knights had any morals whatsoever.

He caught the eye of a particularly tall and muscular boy - most likely a squire - and the boy stared back at him. Those stormy-gray eyes burned into his brain. They were the eyes of someone who hated what he was watching, but couldn’t look away.

The grindstone stopped, and he was placed on a large table. One of the knights, probably the leader because he was the tallest and ugliest of the lot, took the sword.

“You’re a lucky lad,” he said cheerfully. “You’re not going to die. Not yet, at least. Instead, we’re going to take, ah...your hand. You no longer deserve it, after hitting one of our own.”

The peasant’s right hand was grabbed, and his other limbs were held in place by the knights, as he struggled in futile terror. He saw the sword fall down, saw his hand spasm as it was cleanly separated from his wrist down.

He didn’t stop his agonized screaming until a knight knocked him out with a blow to the head.

 

\---

 

Cuithbeart had watched the whole thing in horrified silence. He gritted his teeth as he watched Sir Breasal O’Banion sheath the bloody sword and stride up to him with a sneer.

“Now listen, boy. You have guard duty of this prisoner tonight. If you ever want to become a knight, boy, you’ll guard that cell with your life. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He hated that he had watched that peasant boy have his hand severed without even saying anything. That boy had caught his eyes, and there was clearly desperation in them. And he said and did nothing. Tonight, it would be his hand; tomorrow, likely his head. It bothered the hell out of him. And now he was on guard duty with that same prisoner. Was the world trying to pin his inevitable death on him?

Cuithbeart followed them to the dungeons, looking down at his feet until a highborn exited the cell with a cruel laugh. He was tall with black hair and eyes the color of coal. The sobs of a girl inside the cell caused the squire to instinctively freeze.

“My lord!” Sir Breasel knelt and the squire followed his lead. “Are you sure you want the peasant with your lady?”

“She needs to be taught a lesson,” the lord said. “She’s been deflowered by me already. She’ll have my child. Chain the peasant if you wish, but she needs to learn her place.”

“Very well, my lord!” The knight turned to Cuithbeart. “Boy, chain the peasant. Do it properly. And then you guard the cell. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Cuithbeart noticed blood in the cell from the body of some man. He lifted the peasant easily, deposited him in the cell, far away from the body, and made sure to chain him. He saw the highborn girl stare at him with listless eyes. She was completely nude and he moved to cover her with his cloak before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“No,” the lord said coldly. “She can freeze, for all I care.”

“But she’s to be your lady!” he said in shock.

“My lady needs to learn her lesson well. I have no patience for people who refuse to learn from their betters.”

It was then that Cuithbeart had a thought in his mind that would change everything. He no longer cared about becoming a knight. He no longer cared what that lord thought, what the knights thought. What he was doing was wrong - and he knew that he had to save the two in the cell.


End file.
